“Meeting someone?”
“I got a message from a . . . friend. He’s in town and wanted to see me. I skipped going to your office today so that I could meet him.”
Ronan tries not to react, but his eyes widen in alarm. “It’s that boy from before, isn’t it? The one who broke into the Atherton mansion with you.”
I hesitate, but he already knows it’s true. “Yes.”
“Alli—”
“It’s not what you think, okay? We didn’t do anything bad. We didn’t steal anything. He just wanted to talk. He wanted to know if I’m doing okay.”
“Alli. The protectors are still looking for him. You should’ve come to me.”
“Why, so you can tell your protector girlfriend to arrest him?” The words fly out of my mouth before I can think about them, and Ronan recoils. “I didn’t want him to be arrested,” I add quickly. “At least not . . . not before I had the chance to talk to him again. I hadn’t seen or spoken to him since the summer. And I . . . I don’t know anybody else here. I just wanted to talk to a friend.”
For several agonizing seconds, Ronan doesn’t answer. “I know you want to protect your friend,” he says quietly. “But you’re still on probation, do you understand? If you’re involved in anything else—if you’re even suspected of being involved in anything else—they’ll send you back to the detention center. Just like they will if you get caught with him at all. You know that he’s wanted by the protectors; you have a legal obligation to turn him in.”
“I don’t care,” I say, more loudly than I intended. “I don’t care about probation or obligation or any of that other lawyer-speak you just said. All I did was talk to my friend.”
“No,” Ronan says, rubbing the bridge of his nose again. “What you did was run around the city without telling me where you were and associate with a wanted criminal. I think I understand why you did it. But it was wrong, and you know that.”
I’m not sure what he wants me to say, so I don’t say anything.
He exhales and looks down at the books on the floor. “Mari was out looking for you tonight,” he says to the stack. “She searched half the city in the cold, looking. If you hadn’t turned up, she was going to call a whole team of protectors to search.”
“To arrest me?”
He looks up. “No. To bring you home. Because I was worried about you. Because both of us were worried about you.”
I open my mouth. Close it.
I don’t think anybody has ever worried about me like that. Ever. I don’t know what to say.
Ronan leans forward and stands up. “It’s been a long day,” he says. “We’re both tired. Let’s continue this discussion tomorrow. There’s a bowl of stew for you on the stove. Get cleaned up, and I’ll heat it for you.”
“Thank you,” I say, edging toward the hallway. I can’t believe I’m getting off this easy. For now, anyway.
“And, Alli?”
I stop. “Yes?”
“You shouldn’t talk to that boy anymore, understand?”
I nod.
I understand, but I don’t promise.
• • •
The next morning, I don’t feel any better about lying to my brother.
I sigh and roll over onto my back, staring up at the ceiling. It’s chilly in here, and I don’t want to get out from under the blanket. Maybe I can just lie here forever. Maybe then I’ll never have to “continue the discussion” with Ronan and hear him tell me how he’s going to kick me out. Maybe then I’ll never have to see him look disappointed in me again.
It’s somehow worse that he didn’t yell at me last night. In fact, he hardly said anything more after I ate dinner, just sent me off to my room and went back to his books. But I don’t feel relieved. I feel . . . anticipation. Like there’s a weight hanging over my head, ready to crush me, and I’m just waiting for it to drop.
I close my eyes. Yes, I’m definitely staying in this bed forever. Forget about my brother and his disappointment, forget about his way-too-perceptive protector girlfriend, forget about Beck and Rosalia and . . .
Beck. Rosalia. The Shadows.
My eyes fly open.
Today’s the day. The day I’m supposed to go to the Shadows meeting. It isn’t until this evening, but I’ve got to figure out a way to get to the chapel by six. Which is a problem, because Ronan will be home by then, and we’ll be eating dinner. Mari might be here too.
I could just run out on them again, but there’s no way I’m doing that. Not after yesterday. If Ronan isn’t planning to kick me out right now, he definitely will if I just disappear all evening. But what else is there? What can I pretend to be doing?
There’s only one solution: I’ll have to pretend to be sick. That’ll get me out of dinner and give me an excuse to stay in my room all night. It’ll be hard convincing Ronan that I’m not faking it, but I’ve had more than enough experience faking illnesses at the orphanage. It will have to do.
I spring from my bed, ignoring the chilly air, and throw on some clothes. I work out the details of my idea as I attempt to brush my unruly hair into submission. I’ll need a damp washcloth, to make my skin feel clammy, and maybe I can make it look like I’m sweating. . . .
A loud thud sounds outside my door, like someone’s dropped something in another room.
But that doesn’t make sense. I overslept. Ronan should’ve left for work hours ago.
My heart thuds erratically. Could it be . . . could it be the Shadows? Or someone from the Guild? Has a thief broken into our apartment?
Could they be here for Ronan? What if I led them here, what if they’re lying in wait, what if they already killed Ronan in his sleep, what if—?
I take a deep breath and let my Guild training kick in. I tiptoe toward the door, my bare feet hardly making a sound. I crack the door open and scan the hallway.
To my right, Ronan’s bedroom is dark. So is the bathroom. To my left, a light streams from either the kitchen or the living room. It’s a light that’s too yellow-y and flickering to be sunlight. Someone’s lit a lantern or a candle in there.
I slip out the door and creep down the hall, my feet whisper-soft against the floor. A strong smell wafts in from the kitchen, something familiar, like . . . pancakes?
I peer carefully around the corner. A candle sits on one of the kitchen counters, flickering. And Mari stands at the stove, holding a pan in one hand.
Here I am expecting to find thieves in the kitchen, and it’s just my brother’s girlfriend sent to babysit me. Who’s making breakfast, apparently.
The Shadows haven’t come for Ronan. Not yet.
I try to steady my breathing and act casual, walking into the kitchen.
“Good morning, Alli,” Mari says cheerfully. As if she didn’t spend all evening yesterday trudging through the city in the cold, looking for me. Maybe she doesn’t know Ronan told me that. Or maybe we’re just going to play pretend. “Would you like some pancakes?”
“Sounds great,” I say, sliding into a chair at the kitchen table. “Smells great too.”
Mari is usually a worse cook than Ronan—all she really makes are simple stews and soups—but her pancakes are perfect: warm and soft and delicious, served with a side of cranberries and drenched in sugary syrup. I devour them as quickly as possible, barely pausing to breathe.
I can’t remember ever having homemade pancakes before.
Mari joins me at the table, watching me eat. There’s an expression on her face that I can’t quite read.
“So,” I say when I’ve scraped the plate clean, “did Ronan ask you to babysit me?”
“Something like that,” she says carefully, watching my reaction.
“Don’t you have to work?”
“Not until this evening. I’ve got a night shift this time.”
I nod. “And tomorrow?”
“We’ll see how it goes,” she says vaguely. I take this to be code for We don’t know what to do with you, but you can’t be trusted alone.
I should just play nice. Mari will probably assume that I’m faking it to make up for yesterday, but that’s fine. If she thinks I’m trying to atone for what I already did, she won’t guess that I’m up to something else. I look down at the table, doing my best I’m-embarrassed-to-be-telling-you-this impression. “I was thinking about maybe doing something nice for Ronan today. You know, because of . . . yesterday. So I thought I’d make dinner or something. What’s his favorite?”
“You cook?” Mari says, not bothering to hide her surprise.
“Not really. I kind of need your help.” I pause, pretending to be self-conscious. “Forget it. Dumb idea.”
Mari takes the bait. “It’s a great idea,” she says. “I think Ronan would really like that. Although we’d have to make his favorite dessert: honey melts.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a Ruhian specialty. Powdered sugar pastries covered in honey.”
“That sounds amazing. Are they easy to make?”
“Sure. I need to go shopping anyway, so why don’t we head down to the market and buy some ingredients?”
“You think so?” I ask, raising my head a little.
“Sure.” She smiles.
It’s easy to trick her. I might, maybe, feel a little bit guilty.
But there will be plenty of time for that later. Right now I’ve got to play nice with Mari all day, then pretend to be sick at dinnertime so that I can sneak out of the apartment, all before meeting Beck and Rosalia at the chapel.
With any luck, my brother and his girlfriend aren’t the only people I’ll be fooling tonight.
Mari takes me to the market to buy ingredients for dinner, and we spend most of the day in the kitchen. It’s nice, actually, just hanging out with her. She’s kind of cool, when she isn’t being all strict and protector-y. And she tells me things about Ronan that he won’t tell me himself, like how he’s the youngest apprentice at Avinoch’s to pass his first exam, and how he’s doing all this studying to keep up with apprentices who have been there twice as long as he has. Or like how honey melt pastries are his favorite, and how he always takes three lumps of sugar in his tea.
It’s weird, learning all of these things about my own brother from somebody else. Somebody who knows him better than I do, because she’s had time with him that I haven’t. But it’s also kind of nice, to learn these things about him. And to have her share them, as if I’m somehow an important person in his life who needs to know all of this.
By the time dinner is ready, I don’t even have to fake a stomachache. A massive ball of guilt is lodged in my gut.
I stick around long enough to greet Ronan with his surprise dinner, and he acts all grateful and everything. Mari tells him I did most of the cooking, which is an outright lie that no one believes, but Ronan thanks me anyway. I excuse myself to the bathroom, where I rub my forehead with a damp cloth. I wait a few minutes, then emerge from the bathroom and announce that I don’t feel well.
Mari’s eyes narrow, but Ronan leaps up and presses his palm to my forehead. “You do feel clammy,” he says. “Would you like to lie down?”
“Yeah,” I say, “just for a while. My stomach doesn’t feel so good.”
“Would you like some warm tea?” Mari asks. I can’t tell if she’s suspicious or not.
“No, thanks,” I say, heading down the hall toward my room. “I’m just going to lie down.”
I climb into bed, throw the blankets over myself, and watch the clock tick down.
The sounds of dishes clanking and distant voices drift through the walls. Eventually the front door opens and closes—that’ll be Mari leaving for her night shift. Another minute passes. Ronan is moving around in the kitchen. A minute later, the door creaks open as he peeks in to check on me. I pretend to be asleep, and he retreats. His footsteps tap slowly down the hall, and his bedroom door thuds closed.
I spring out of bed. I have ten minutes left to get to the chapel.
While lying in bed, I decided to write a note for Ronan, just in case he realizes I’m missing. I don’t want to worry him again, or get into any more trouble. I scrounge up a scrap of paper and scribble quickly:
Ronan,
Just went out to get some fresh air. Not running away. Don’t worry. Don’t look for me.
—A
I bunch my pillows underneath the blanket so that if he glances in from the doorway, it will look like I’m still in bed. But I put the note on top of one of the pillows, just in case he pulls the blankets back and discovers the truth.
I throw on my coat and a thick woolen scarf. I pick up my clunky snow boots but don’t put them on yet; they’ll be too loud in the hallway. Carefully I open my door and slip out. Only a single lantern burns in the kitchen, and the living room is shrouded in shadows. I step cautiously, not wanting to trip over a stray book on the floor. Finally I reach the front door, ease it open, and leave the apartment behind.
Outside, the wind is bitter. Most of the snow from yesterday didn’t stick, but the pavement is still wet and slippery. I shove on my boots, wrap the scarf all the way up to my nose, and set out.
A few minutes later, the chapel looms before me. This time around, Beck and Rosalia were courteous enough not to give me a heart attack and left the doors closed. Still, I approach the building cautiously. I don’t want any more surprises.
Inside, a small fire now burns in the hearth. Most of the debris from the center aisle has been cleared away, pushed to the edges of the room. Rosalia sits on the step leading up to the altar, facing the door. She wears a heavy blue traveling cloak that’s pooled gracefully around her. With her straight-backed posture and disdainful expression, I swear she thinks she’s sitting on a gilded throne instead of a dirty, crumbling step.
“You’re late,” she says.
Two seconds in her presence, and my temper is already flaring up. “Hey, you don’t even know what I had to do to get here. You have no idea—”
“You’re right, Rosco, I have no idea,” she interrupts. “I just spent the last day smuggling my family out of the Thieves Guild without alerting any of the other thieves in the hope that we wouldn’t be assassinated by the Shadows before we could make it out. But you’re right, I’m sure the last few hours of your ordinary life have been very trying for you.”
My hands ball into fists. “For your information,” I say through clenched teeth, “there is nothing ordinary about trying to sneak away from my brother and the protector who lives next door, and meeting up with thieves from a secret organization in order to attend a meeting of an even secreter organization whose members are trying to kill everyone. But you’re right, you’re the only person who has any problems at all.”
In one swift movement, Rosalia rises to her feet. She opens her mouth to respond, but a voice floating above our heads interrupts. “Could the two of you maybe be in the same room for one minute without trying to kill each other?”
I turn around and look up at the choir loft. Beck leans against the railing, his arms dangling over the side. It’s dark up there, and his face is shadowed.
“No,” I reply. “I have a very low tolerance for condescension.”
I still can’t see his face, but I get the distinct impression that he’s rolling his eyes at me.
“We don’t have time for this,” Rosalia says from behind me. “Let’s go.”
“Wait,” I say, spinning back around. “I thought you weren’t coming?”
She glares. “We aren’t sure if the Shadows will be watching those who enter and leave their meeting place. We don’t want any of them to follow you back here and discover this chapel, so you and Beck are going to take two separate, roundabout routes to and from the meeting. I’m going to show you the way, and you can walk back on your own after. Any objections?”
“I can think of a few.”
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This time she ignores me. She sweeps forward, her cloak billowing behind her, and stops right in front of me. She reaches into her pocket and withdraws a glinting object. A golden pendant, studded with a massive green gemstone.
Her key to the Guild.
“You’ll need this,” she says quietly. “To prove you’re a member.”
Even though we already discussed this part of the plan, the significance isn’t lost on me. Guild members don’t entrust their pendants to just anyone. It’s her entire life, and she’s handing it over to me.
Before I can figure out how to respond, Rosalia taps her foot impatiently. “Sometime today, Rosco.”
I hold out my hand, and she drops the pendant into my palm. It’s heavier than I expected, and I tuck it hastily into my pocket.
Without another word, Rosalia strides past me and throws open the chapel doors.
I glare at her retreating back, then look up at Beck. “Do I have to?”
He grins, teeth flashing in the dark. “Good luck, Allicat. I’ll see you there.”
I sigh and trudge toward Rosalia. “You so owe me for this, Beck Reigler.”
As I pass underneath the loft, his response floats down from overhead, barely a whisper:
“Be careful.”
Chapter Twelve
Rosalia walks quickly, and I have to trot after her, barely avoiding being hit by her flapping cloak. “Why can’t you wear a coat like a normal person?”
Rosalia seems to have decided that the best policy for dealing with me is to pretend she can’t hear me. “Remember, you’re a member of the Guild. But you don’t feel that you’ve been treated fairly under Kerick’s rule, and you support a change in leadership. Tell them Beck invited you to the meeting. If they ask for an additional endorsement, name Koby Mead.”
“And if Mead tells them I’m lying?”
“If they know you’re lying, run.”
She says it so matter-of-factly that it takes me a second to realize she’s serious. “Run where?”
“Away.”
“Oh, great, that’s so helpful, thanks.” Her cloak snaps toward me, and I dodge right, narrowly avoiding a collision with a nearby signpost.
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